December 12, 2006

The Year is 1992. It’s late fall - around November, and I’m standing out on our third floor balcony with Gary smoking a cigarette. It’s cold - but not too terribly, so I don’t have on a jacket. In hindsight, it probably would’ve been a very good idea.

Nicky, who’s just turned two, is inside running around the condo. Gar and I are chatting amongst ourselves when all of a sudden we hear “click.” Turning around, we see Nicky standing inside by the patio door lock with a big smile plastered on his face. I rush over to open the door, only to find Nicky has locked us out. “Ni-Ni, open the door,” I say. Inside, Nicky stands on his tippytoes and reaches for the lock but cannot figure out how to unlock it, and he runs away instead.

Suddenly, it hits us - we’re locked out while our toddler is running around inside. Did I mention we’re on a third floor balcony?

Gar joins me at the patio door and, between the two of us, we coax Nicky back over to the door. “Ni-Ni, keep trying,” we tell him. He yanks binky out of his mouth - “Ni-Ni no how,” he informs us - gesturing with his hands - and cramming binky back in his mouth, scurries away. Who knows what he’s getting into as we see him dart away towards his room, and ours.

There’s a toolbox on the balcony, so Gar goes to work trying to pick (or break) the lock with a screwdriver. Damn those Anderson door people - it’s tamperproof! Gar’s not having much luck with the lock, and I’m having even less with Nicky. Despite our attempts to keep trying, he’s just not able to figure it out.

I should’ve seen this coming. Recently, Nicky had taken an interest in the door lock, and I’d catch him jiggling the handle - well, trying to, unsuccessfully. So much for the mental note that I needed to remove it before it became a problem. Wouldn’t you know - the day he figured it out, we were on the other side of the door!

Okay - we’re not making much headway. I walk over to the railing on the balcony and glance down. Did I mention we’re on the third flooor? Looking down, it’s a pretty far drop. We scan the balcony for McGyver gadgets, and Gary spots a waterhose. He’s thinking we can drop it over the side and shimmy down to get help from one of the neighbors. The more I thought about it, the less likely it became an option - the balcony railing was wooden, and I was not trusting the strength of the wood against Gar’s weight, or mine.

Having given up on the prospect of the waterhose, Gar goes back to prying at the lock, and I walk back over and, again, try talking to Nicky through the door. “Ni-Ni, go get your chair,” we tell him - thinking if he can reach the lock better, maybe he can get it to unlock. Nicky dashes off and comes back with his chair, stands up on it, but still isn’t able to figure out the lock. “Ni-Ni no how,” he says over and over.

After several more minutes pass, I get a brainstorm - grab the waterhouse, and hoist it over the railing down to my neighbor’s patio on the first floor. I sure am hoping Nancy, a stay-at-home Mom, is actually home. Grabbing the end of the hose, I swing it back and forth until I hear the clinking of metal on glass - her glass door. A few minutes pass, and finally - thankfully - Nancy comes out on her patio.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “We came out for a cigarette, and Nicky locked us out accidentally,” I tell her. We continue talking, working on a solution. She has no way to get in the condo as the front door is locked, and we don’t have keys on us. After more discussion, I get her to send her cordless phone up so we can call the local police department for assistance. Nancy ties the phone to the hose, we pull it back up, and make the call.

Nicky is still running around inside. He’s pretty much given up on the lock - it’s not interesting anymore. Between Gar and I, we’ve smoked probably half a pack of cigarettes to calm our nerves; however, they’re not very calm. Fortunately, I hadn’t started cooking lunch yet, so the stove was off. That provided a little comfort.

Shortly thereafter, we see a police cruiser pull up in the back yard. The police officer gets out, seeing our plight, and shouts up at us, “Sure hope that cigarette was worth it.” We chat with the officer, who informs us the fire department is on its way. (Great! Let’s attract more attention!) He’s asking us the same questions we’ve already asked ourselves - any other way to get in the house? And offering up that they’ll probably have to break the front door down.

Needless to say, I don’t want the door broken down - I was afraid it’d scare the bejesus out of Nicky, and that would be almost as terrible as what we were already feeling. “Well, if that was the absolute last choice, then that’s what we’d have to do,” I thought to myself, hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

Inside, Nicky sees the police cruiser, and excitedly runs around exclaiming “pawice caw! pawice caw!” Gar and I tell him open the door, and he can come out and see the police car for himself. He tries a couple more times, but we get the same “Ni-Ni no how,” response.

A few mintues later, a firetruck pulls up in the backyard. “Sure hope those cigarettes were worth it,” we hear. What is this? A conspiracy? We chat with the firemen about solutions. They finally tell us the only way we’re going to get in is to break down the front door.

Upon seeing the firetruck, Nicky comes rushing back over to the door again. He’s ecstatic inside, running around - “fia-twuck! fia-twuck!” “Yes, Ni-Ni, it’s a firetruck. Open the door and you can go see the firetruck.” “Ni-Ni no how!” And now he starts crying.

Nancy has let the firemen in the building, and they’re trying to pick the lock at the front door. Nicky is getting more upset and crying for us. I try to comfort him through the door, and finally resign myself to the fact they’re going to have to break down the door. I tell Gar to have them go ahead.

It’s now been over an hour that we’ve been outside. I’m cold, I’m a nervous wreck, and I need a friggin’ cigarette! As I’m smoking, it registers - our realtor has a key to the condo, and he’s in the next town. I still have the cordless phone, and dial information to get his number, and ask the firemen to wait a minute.

“Hi Vince, guess what!” I proceed to tell him about our situation. “Sure hope those cigarettes were worth it!” Yeah, yeah - whatever. Vince says he’s got a key, and he’ll be right over.

Vince arrives about 15 minutes later with the key. He walks around back to shout up at us that’s he’s there. Vince, a fireman, and the policeman then go around the building and make their way up to our condo, open the door, and then open the locked patio door.

I rushed inside and grabbed Nicky up in my arms, and gave him a big hug. A few minutes later, I put him down, thanked everyone for their help, and grabbed a screwdriver, then removed the lock from the slider door, and threw it away. It was never locked again.

That year for Christmas, the only thing Nicky wanted was a firetruck. He got one, personally delivered from Santa himself!

Oh, and did this episode make us quit smoking? No. What was the lesson learned? Beware. Big things come in small packages.

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